Terrafirma
From Australia comes guitarist Rob McDade's "Terrafirma", with slightly creepy closeups of a dingo (or maybe just a dog...Oz is a mystery) in the artwork. The first piece, "Water Music 1", is a simply gorgeous bit of solo guitar looping, simple in scope but very enjoyable. Part of the fun of this disc is that there's nothing which even remotely resembles this again until the very end, with (of course) "Water Music 2", which is the same loop extended, pleasingly.
In between is a jumbled crockpot of styles and concepts. Rob is a highly skilled steel-string player with excellent technique; I'd imagine that he could nail traditional Celtic and folk stuff all day without even trying. Instead of simply settling into that well-traveled groove, however, he really pushes against the common boundaries of song styles. The very second piece, the amusingly titled "Dickhead in a G string", is a nine-minute suite that covers nearly all the bases between ambient abstractions to heavy rock (see my earlier review). It's pretty nuts, but wholly listenable (and probably one of my favorites on the disc for its grand ambition and a few truly delicious bits).
After the lengthy and ambitious journey of "G String", things settle down into familiar territory for the next two tracks, which showcase a bit of Michael Hedges influence in the open tuning, right-hand slapping and heavy use of octave harmonics, and again his capable chops. Then comes something else totally unexpected, an arrow-straight rendition of Pink Floyd's "Pigs on the Wing", with vocals that duplicate the phrasing of the original (rather nicely). This isn't a common cover, and it's well-done, but again, a funny thing to appear in the middle of the album.
Next are a couple more tunes that hew closer to familiar territory, then there's a heavily chromatic slide tune called "Mudflat Blues" that almost reminds me of Camper Van Beethoven. Psychedelic and cockeyed, it's a pleaser and over too soon.
Perhaps I'm seeing a pattern now, as the following two pieces again hit some familiar notes, with "Blue Moon Territory" being especially heartfelt. And yes, after these two comes something different, the three-chord jamfest of "All Washed Up". This takes a deep plunge into the classic rockisms hinted at in "G String", and I have to say, it is so completely immersed there that I'm tempted to believe there's meant to be humor behind it (which the title suggests). It goes on a long, long, LONG time, with bluesy soloing overtop those same three chords, well-done but so indulgent in comparison to the tasteful and economical nature of all the tunes (besides "G String", which is tasteful though completely over the top) that it's borderline disturbing. That fact that it leads directly into "Water Music 2" makes it seem even more excessive, which could easily be his whole point. McCade keeps one guessing and is always capable of the tangents he takes; I especially like the edges and look forward to seeing where he goes next.
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This, truly, is a musical trip, nine minutes long and needing that time, it seems, to tell its story. It somehow hangs together, even when running from Celtic fingerpicking to full-on Chevy Nova/2112/roach clip classic rock riffing, albeit still acoustic (and that, albeit with wah-wah and stoner crunch). There's definitely a narrative going on here, especially in the jarring changes like the moment two minutes in when the heavy-duty steel-string workout gives way to a very distant sirenlike slide, abetted by delicate filigreed harmonics. This turns into a beautiful meditation with a light Abercrombie-like melody that lasts just a minute before ushering in the fuzztone and a whole lot of melodrama. It's pocket-sized stadium-rock, turning on a dime from Skyrnd-worthy axeslinging to pensive echoes of the earlier, subtler textures. At seven minutes is the payoff, a feedback-drenched power chord glory stomp, clearing the gates for a wiggly-toned clean electric that manages to refer to almost everything preceding it, leaving you back at your door with a modest little handshake at the end.